Taste of Life
by Osidiano
Summary: Drabble scene with Daisuke and Ken at a mall. A play on the angsty gay!Daisuke stereotype. The greatest horrors in life are often made by man, and this one is no exception. However, Daisuke has a way of looking on the bright side.


Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Digimon, or any of the characters in this story. Daisuke and Ken belong to the series' creator, and whoever he sold his soul to. I'm not making any money off of this story. It was written with the intention of being a funny scene, and nothing else. Do not sue me. This story takes place (apparently) sometime after the end of the series, but really has nothing to do with the main time line. Enjoy.

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**Taste of Life**

Daisuke skidded to a stop in front of the broad window, wet sneakers squeaking loudly on the white tile of the mall floor. For a moment, his mind went blank as he stared, mouth agape, and he was filled with a sick horror. Terror bubbled up from deep inside him like some nightmarish bile that threatened to spew forth from his trembling lips into reality, hot and burning in his throat like acid. He tried to close his eyes, to look away from the torture that lay, row upon row in their soulless packaging, on the other side of the glass. But he found that, much to his dismay, he could not. No matter how hard he tried, he could not drag his dark gaze from that surreal monstrosity, with its trite name and flashy colors.

His hands clenched into fists at his side almost compulsively, denial flooding his senses. This could not be. It simply was not possible for something like _this_, this abomination, to have been created. Was mankind truly that foolish, that in love with itself that they thought that they could best the creations of a god. . .? No, Daisuke could not bring himself to believe it. He wanted, desperately, to believe that there was yet hope for his race, his people. Perhaps this was all a bad dream, brought on by years of neglect and sexual repression. He decided that it must have been caused by something Freudian: perhaps his mother had held him too much as a child, or not enough.

". . ."

Shit. Did this mean that he was _gay_?

"Damnit!" he swore, breaking the trance that his brief reverie had dragged him into, and scuffing the toe of one sneaker on the tiles angrily. Slowly, he looked back up to the window and electronic devices that had started this whole mess. Stupid technology. . .making him question his sexuality at a time like _this_, when free time had finally become something that he longed for, something he awaited with open arms. It was paramount, essential, and now it seemed as though he had completely run out.

"Dais, wait up!"

Oh, that was right. He was not there alone. Ken, his long time (alright, so he had only known the guy for a year) best friend, was with him. Through everything. No matter what, Ken would be there for him, helping him along whatever dark path that he chose. When the world came to that pivotal stopping point, when everything finally ended, Ken would be there to hold his hand and---

And there he went again, letting his gay show through like polka-dotted underwear under white shorts.

"Daisuke, what's wrong? Are. . .are you okay? You look like you're having a seizure. . ." Ken sounded concerned, put a hand on Daisuke's shoulder and gave him a small, reassuring squeeze. The spiky-haired teen jerked his head up, a fake grin plastered to his face. He could not let his friend find out what was wrong with him.

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just freakin' out because, uhm. . ." his brown eyes flitted from spot to spot, trying to come up with some vague excuse. They settled on the device behind the shop window once more, and Daisuke pointed to it, excitedly. "Because I saw that!"

". . .and _what_, exactly, is that thing?"

"The PSPX2-18 beta-four version 'B'. Commonly called the 'GameDuck,'" he recited the information like he was reading it out of a science book, one hand on his hip and the other waving idly in the air by his head. "It's Sony's newest handheld. Basically, it's the illegitimate lovechild of the GameBoy, WonderSwan, and GameSlave. It'll probably flop against Nintendo -- because I _know_ that I'm not the only one who worships them like Buddha -- but I'm getting one anyway."

Ken blinked a little, surprised, and looked back to the window. "I. . .didn't know that you collected game consoles, Daisuke."

"Oh, I don't. But if you pre-ordered one, then you got a free game, and I thought that it sounded pretty cool, so. . ." he shrugged, the smile now genuine and rather sheepish.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what game---"

"No, dude; it's totally awesome!" he cut Ken off with his exclamation, bouncing slightly where he stood. "In this game, you get to play as a rising rock star, but you've fallen in with a bad crowd--like, the Mafia or Yakuza, or something. And you're totally indebted to them, because they saved your life, so you have to work for them, and you get to choose whether you become a hitman for them, or a whore."

". . .that's wonderful, Daisuke."

"No man, it gets better. Listen to this," he paused, letting the suspense build. He waited until it was suffocating, until the pressure beat down on him like endless waves of heat; until the very air itself was ripe and electric with curiosity. ". . .You're a _snail_."

"A. . .snail, Dais?"

"Yeah, how crazy-badass is that? I mean, you really haven't lived until you have the chance to be a snail-whore," Daisuke continued, now tapping the glass. Ken let out an exasperated sigh, and just shook his head.


End file.
